


sunlight bask

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 01:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: you must look into that storm and shout as you did in rome,"do your worst, for i will do mine!" ー then the fates will know you as we know you.





	sunlight bask

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU.

「 _I will not be returned until late this evening_ **_,_ **」he begins, vexed. is it vexing for the state of his work, a chaos of organisation so neat and complete it would please the creator himself? (fah.) or is it vexing for the fact that he texts at all, rather than leaving himself unannounced, rather than letting his domestic ply and assuage their household with lies, soothing words?

his domestic -- his fool -- seems to be similarly confounded. it’s impressions for impression’s sake; belial can read his temper through text alone, as if the heat sparks at his very fingertips. has he not always been so capable?

「 _yeah? work that busy?_ 」comes the return. pointless little words wasting electronic impulses shot over radio waves.

「 _Have our son fed and to rest by the turn of the hour._ 」

「 _kk_ ! _got it babe_.」to follow, a sticker or two. lucilius doesn’t respond. belial tests his limits and treads thin ground when he adds, 「 _he misses you, yk, looked at me with BIG 👀 and went all “where’s papa?” my 💔!_ 」

vexing. this is what’s vexing, these limp-wristed attempts at playing to a heart he does not have. it’s vexing because belial knows, and he knows, and belial knows that he knows. like shards of glass weathered by snowstorm and a black hole drawn silent by a jet of radiation--

「 _send me a pic?_ 」

ugh.「 _No_.」

「 _trade4trade! m4m!_ ♥」

he sends a picture of the knife in his desk. belial returns with a picture of him, lips curved up in an inviting, devious smile… and their son.

the white walls of his office warm to something yellow. the itch at the back of his collar from his lab coat fades. the slant to his mouth subsides, replaced by something pensive. warm winds, summer sands, the last journey to the last ocean taken by the last human alive.

his son is perfect. how could he not be? he belongs to lucilius. he is of lucilius, with his rounded face, his moonrise hair, his lips that will thin with the passage of time and intelligence. he sheds every hint of eve and replaces it with cain, and his eyes, they’re wide and curious and tinted with chaos. they’re red and they’re not from lucilius, but that’s fine. they’re not from the creator, either.

theirs was a union never meant to be. yet here they are, one man and his other.

「 _Where is this sadness you claim?_ 」he accuses, a parry and invitation that belial gladly indulges.

a follow-up picture zooms in on his son, crops belial almost out of frame entirely. lucilius feels a tug at his mouth and doesn’t fight it. he’s so young. soon he will speak, and his words will cut the air to ribbons. 「 _see it now?_ 」

「 _He is staring at the lens because you entice him, you clod._ 」

so, a final riposte. it takes a few minutes for the next message to arrive, in which span of time precisely no amount of work is accomplished. it’s a heftier file that his phone takes its time in loading. he is not a patient man, and he is halfway through a witful retort--

then, his son. again. this time, it’s a video. belial’s voice coos at the young child from behind the camera. ‘say hello to cilius!’ he coaxes, saccharine without the dishonest sweetness. their son sits up a little, gets a shine of a light in his eyes, repeats the word.

‘cil-- cilius?’

‘mm, yeah, yeah. he’s on his way home now. cilius is gonna be home real soon.’

a beat.

「 _You are a fool_ ,」he replies.

but is he wrong?

no more wrong than a stellarnova in its collapse. the resultant void is not a vessel, but one that consumes. the hawking radiation that spills off as fire and brimstone lights the morning as a star. a black hole is no less explosive than the circumstances that gave it birth.

but the edges are different, the softness of an event horizon.

the jingle of his keys masks the buzz from his phone. he gets up. he knows what it says without looking.

「 _See you soon._ 」

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from works by Alexandre Dumas.


End file.
